I Got Your Nose
by thedancingcrown
Summary: Gotham Academy is taken hostage. Takes place during Team Year 3. (rated T for safety)
1. The Sound in the Silence

**the sound in the silence**

* * *

Gotham City had done him wrong. He'd been a good citizen. A decent father. A…relatively, loving husband. But times were tough and whatnot, or so the saying went, and if he wanted to take care of his family, sometimes, a man had to be willing to wander on the grey side of the law.

Jobs had started out small. Fetch this, deliver it there, don't peak, be paid handsomely. Technically, it was just delivery like anything else – milk on the doorstep of paying customers, post in the mail, something else that was actually 'legit' – and as long as he didn't think about it too much, it wouldn't bother him at the end of the day, snuggling into bed next to his oblivious wife, how whatever he'd dropped off tonight was potentially life-endangering for a few unknown, unsuspecting people.

He kind of reminded himself of that – he didn't know any of those people, and, if it was drugs or guns he was lugging across town for them, it was because they'd made the choice themselves. He was basically just working. That there was a market for whatever he was delivering, it wasn't his fault and it wasn't his responsibility.

He was just the delivery man. At first.

But delivery was sometimes a more dangerous business than it was known for – especially when someone else knew what you were delivering, and, more importantly, wanted a slice of the pie for themselves without having to pay the price. Maybe it was some kind of luck – of the same variety that had gotten him into the covert delivery business in the first place, that kept his wife comfortably in the dark, that helped him lie to her and the kids like he'd been born with a silver tongue – that he'd been assigned some protection for one specific transport.

He must have been moving up in the delivery boy ranks, he'd been figuring, because they sent him out more, gave him more destinations on a single route, called him up at even odder hours than before. Unless you looked real close, he seemed like any average Joe delivery man just doing his job and that's probably why they – the big bosses – had gotten away with it so often and easily. How they hadn't yet gotten the Bat on their tail.

They did, however, catch the eye of the competition.

Five men cornered him and his partner in an alley, intent on stealing the goods, and for a moment his heart had sort of plummeted into his boots, because he had one man for protection – dressed in ordinary-looking delivery garb as well, though his face was covered with a thick scarf, sunglasses and a cap on his head – against all of them.

The next moment they were in a fight, and though keeping the package safe was as much his responsibility as his companion's, he'd be damned before giving his life for the thing. Really, he was damned either way, but that was beside the point. So he fought back, too, inelegantly and overly rough and not without getting a good beating and a broken wrist himself, but it was all worth it in the end. On the next delivery, he was security.

From the run of the mill walking to the warehouse with a box under your arm type of delivery, he went to genuine transport. In a truck. Driver. Security. And always with his face covered. This was the kind of attention that attracted the cops. Attracted the Bat.

It was also the kind of occupation that had you climbing ranks in the underground villain community, and before long, he was a regular Henchman. Sometimes he could even pick and choose which baddy he assisted – and was explicitly advised by his, tentatively named, friends in the business, to avoid the Joker like the plague (a bank job was never worth it, and if you got out of it alive and jail-free, it was because you got away with nothing else) – and other times they came to him.

Never by name, really. It was more, a friend of a friend's friend heard Penguin was doing this or that and needed a hand, you in? No names, no faces, and getting out was your own responsibility once things went south and the Bat showed up.

It had happened a few times. But he hadn't been caught yet. Wasn't expecting to be caught any time soon, either. He'd been doing this a while and he knew how to make himself scarce when the time came. With the easier jobs, and most of the harder ones. He had, admittedly, gotten himself in over his head several times over the past few years, but some thug or another had always had his back.

Because he was a generally likeable guy.

He sort of fell into that category amongst whatever group of henchmen he was a part of at the time. And others always looked out for the likeable guy – especially if he'd gone out of his way to save your ass, too.

A bunch of guys in a bunch of different circles, different stages of operation, different expertise, owed him a huge debt – their lives.

And a henchman owing a debt was both dangerous and fortuitous. Most of them tried settling their debts as soon as possible – the moral ones. Others tried skipping the bill. But it often didn't matter. Gotham was not so big that they wouldn't cross paths on another job after all, and then he could collect.

Payment was usually a favour, a bail in return, or in on a really sweet deal. The very latter is what had involved him in his current job.

A freckle-faced thug – Ginger Beer – who he'd helped slip out of the Bat's clutches on a busted bank job – not a Joker heist, of course; no going near that clown – a couple weeks ago, approached him during another run of the mill delivery with the offer.

Nameless Jonny – and as all nicknames went, he hadn't picked it himself – had never done a job like this before.

But the pay-off. Huge.

He really needed the money, too. He was planning on taking Margery and the girls on a real nice vacation for Christmas. Somewhere sunny. The cold was already seeping into his skin and it wasn't even properly winter yet. The cold season was going to be biting in Gotham this year, and Nameless Jon wanted part of it.

Ginger Beer swore it'd be easy-going. Gotham's elite wouldn't hesitate to offer up their arms and legs, even if they didn't care a lick for the brats.

It was expected.

Nameless Jonny thought a person could get away with making Gotham's richest do practically anything so long as it was "expected". What a way to live.

He rather stayed in his ratty apartment – well, not so ratty anymore – with his girls then, doing how he wanted.

The High Society also had very particular opinions about the Bat, and his other hero friends. They wouldn't want him involved.

If Nameless Jon wasn't a criminal himself, maybe he'd understand where the Bat was coming from – Gotham's streets were filthy with crime, but when it was the best way to make a living, no dude in a dark suit was really enough to make a difference.

Nameless Jon admired the Bat's determination almost as much as he found it a nuisance.

So hearing the Batman would most likely find interfering difficult – after all, what if Gotham's prissy society sued the Police Department for involving him? Batman wouldn't want that, would he? Word on the street was he and Commissioner G. were tight. Nameless Jonny felt more secure knowing he wouldn't have the big guy spontaneously breathing down his neck halfway through the operation.

It was a daylight job anyway. Bats only came out during the day for one of the crazies. His Boy Wonder was freer with his work hours, though, or so Jon had heard. He'd also heard the boy had had a sudden growth spurt, but he'd glimpsed the red-clad child-hero recently and he still looked relatively regular-short to Jon.

Nameless Jonny had to wonder what Batman did with the kid when they weren't in costume. Experimentation or something? Every thought was unpleasant and made Jonny shudder. What was the Commish thinking letting the Bat run around with a kid? _Still_? If that's what the justice system was like, Jon figured, maybe he was on the right side of the law after all.

After all, if it weren't for these good guys interfering, there would be a lot less casualties during a job.

They were just trying to make a living like everyone else – a less than honest one, admittedly, but things weren't _that_ bad before the Bat appeared. Right? Truth be told, Nameless Jonny didn't really know – it was before his criminal start, back when he was just an ordinary citizen getting screwed by the government through his taxes and other crap. There had been no way he was ever going to get to a steady bank balance if he'd stuck to his crappy grocery store assistant job and tried to raise his two girls on his wife's teacher's salary. Anyway, that was in the past now, and thanks to his underworld connections, he and his family had a lot more going for them now. Jonny was smart though, knew not to be over-zealous with his pay check, less his wife – or someone else – think too much of it.

He wasn't the only one who believed in this kind of living, or the only one who'd been driven to it by the broken government – or whatever else. There were at least thirty – that he knew of – of them working _this job alone_, after all.

The thing about public places, Nameless Jonny had mused when this started, was that they were _public_ places. Any Tom, Dick and Harry could wander right in and do whatever.

This place was no different. Minimum security measures around the grounds – no electric fences, just a plain wall and an iron gate or two, and a deserted walkway up to the looming building.

Ginger Beer's buddies had called a meeting and explained how they'd be filtering onto the grounds in groups of five and six at ten to fifteen and twenty minute intervals so as to avoid serious suspicion – until it was too late for everyone inside, at least. Several of them would make a commotion in the office, keeping whoever was in there busy and preoccupied, away from panic buttons when the time came.

Several other were assigned recon, since they had to keep up to date with where the faculty was and when – not that they didn't have a schedule already, but the only way to be perfectly sure before they made their move, was to check.

There would be a man at every door, one AK-47 in hand and a few other toys strapped to his belt just in case. But, considering whom the hostages were – besides everything else – they weren't expecting trouble.

"They" were all the men involved, since this seemed to be a pure henchman-for-hire made operation, with no big bad steering the train, and, actually, Nameless Jonny had felt a little elated and excited at the prospect. They were a team of men doing their own thing, working together for the greedy sakes of sacks of money from Gotham's richest and up until they got the cash at least, they were one for all and all for one. The talent lay in being one of the first ones to make it out and get away once they had the ransom money. Every man there knew it, but Jonny hadn't been too worried – he could be there when the time came, and afterward he knew how to take his share from a fellow who was refusing to hand it over, too.

Jonny felt generally confident in his abilities, and the success of the plan once he'd heard all of it. So, when Top Hat called again for those who were in, he agreed easily. Anyone who wasn't in was probably getting shot by that point, anyway.

But, the deal was struck and he was in on the job. He'd help take Gotham Academy hostage.

* * *

"Okay," he said agreeably, "Then what about after break? All we have then's English. Who needs English?" he waved one hand through the air and spared his companion a glance. There was no reply. "Alright, fine. You're right. _You _do need English."

He glanced at her again, finding a deep scowl directed at him this time. Jason barked a laugh, throwing up his hands in defence, "No need for the death glare!" he chuckled. "Fine, fine, I admit," he sobered up a bit, stuffing one hand into the pocket of his pants. "_I_ need English. More than you, at least," he sighed, letting the air vibrate through his lips, making a _pfffft_ sort of sound, his mouth ending in a pout though his eyes scowled at the corridor ahead. He noticed her rolling her eyes at him. "What?" he whined. "I'm already bored with this. It's weekend, I don't want to be here."

Jason stuffed his other hand into its pocket as well and scuffed his brightly polished boots against the tile floors as he shuffled along beside his—well, friend, he supposed.

So technically it wasn't weekend until the end of the school day, which had barely just begun, but ignoring that – the week had been long and annoying and all he really wanted to do was spend some time down in the Batcave – or at Mount Justice – training – kicking Superboy's butt.

Absently, he grinned at the thought.

It was swiftly wiped off his face when the shorter girl at his side abruptly grabbed him by the arm and pulled him backwards. "Whoa—what the—" he was promptly shoved into a locker then, awkwardly stepping on books, and keeping his balance only because his shoulders were stuck between one side of the cramped space and the other.

It was dark, and that was annoying, as was the precariously balanced shelf he'd knocked over upon entry, half the stuff on it falling on the floor and the other half somehow landing on his head.

Not a moment later, or his companion climbed into the locker with him, carefully pulling the door shut behind her.

Jason stared, at a loss. Even though he took up a fair space of the locker, she, being so much smaller than him, fit in easily.

"Uh…" he started, scowling. "Generally when bullies stuff people in lockers, they don't climb in after them."

He could hardly make out her expression through the darkness, some of the hallway's light seeping in through the cracks of the door not enough to illuminate her properly, but he did feel her arm brush against him and caught the outline of her forefinger pressing against her lips. She made a "shhh" noise, too, but Jason scoffed – as much as he could, anyway.

"Like hell," he snapped, but he was still making light of it despite himself, because this wasn't like her, "We're supposed to report bullying. This kind of behaviour is—"

She clapped her hand over his mouth, effectively shutting him up, but Jason would not be deterred. He wanted to know what was making her act so crazy all of a sudden.

He wiggled his hand free of its pocket thus and grabbed hold of her wrist, pulling it roughly away from his mouth. "Honestly, Cass, what the hell—"

She cut him off with her other hand, allowing the locker door she'd been keeping closed to swing open somewhat, letting in more light.

He caught a better glimpse of her face as she hissed through her teeth, "Shhhh…!"

Her dark eyebrows were knit into a deep frown, the corners of her mouth turned down.

Jason frowned, too, but in the following silence, he heard something as well. Releasing her wrist in favour of the hand covering his mouth, he whispered when he was able, "Shut the door."

Cass's face seemed to light up for a moment like she was relieved he was finally catching on, before she turned half around and caught the door with her fingers through the cracks and pulled it to a close with a quiet _click_.

"You can still open that later, right?" Jason hissed, his one hand finding her shoulder. Against some of the light seeping into their cramped space he watched her head bob up and down. "Good…" he sighed, and felt content to go back to listening for the sound outside, when something else occurred to him. "Wait – did you pick the lock on this thing? Because this isn't one of our—"

One hand found his mouth again and the other suggestively hit him in the gut.

"Fine, _fine_, I'm quiet," he hissed against her fingers, and it sounded nothing like what he meant. She let him go, although it felt a little hesitant. He rolled his eyes, thinking about something else – like how he hadn't noticed her stop walking next to him long enough to pick a lock. Damn, he was going to have to up his awareness training. Secretly, of course – he didn't want Bruce or Dick knowing. Ugh – but really, she had such a _light_ step in general, it was no wonder he hadn't been paying attention.

As for the other sounds. _Well,_ he mentally reasoned. _She has that whole…heightened senses thing going for her._

He could hear the sounds a lot better now that they were closer – footsteps.

Well, this was a school, nothing particularly odd about that. Maybe it was the janitor, or a teacher ditching class. A corner of Jason's mouth tugged upwards – they did that sometimes, at his old school. Kids were downright violent with misbehaviour and Jason could hardly blame the faculty for putting in as many sick days as they could logically get away with, and then some.

But Gotham Academy was a little different, he amended – teachers didn't wander the hallways during class hours. Just as kids didn't – or, at least, weren't supposed to. As far as Jason knew, Cassandra had never gotten in trouble with a teacher a day in her life. No wonder they were hiding out in a locker. That she knew how to pick a lock though…that was a little disconcerting.

_Not too heavy on the 'dis'_, Jason mumbled in his head, rolling his eyes.

The steps had stopped outside – again.

They must have been almost just around the corner ahead when Cass had heard them and felt the need to hide. They'd stopped walking somewhere down the hallway a little while later, because Jason hadn't heard steps before – they'd been whispers. Very _quiet_ whispers. There was silence for all but the footfalls when they returned and, concentrating on his training, Jason deduced that they belonged to adults – a pair of them. One a little heavier than the other, and…with a limp. They got closer, and halted again.

"Whatever you say, Jonny," a gruff voice said in a loud whisper, and feet shifted across the tiles, a shadow falling across their locker, shrouding Jason's visible spot of Cass's hair in darkness. He felt her shoulder stiffen under his touch and her head ducked a little lower. Jason's eyes only narrowed – he didn't recognize the voice either. Definitely not a teacher then. Maybe a parent? That wasn't so unusual. "I-I trust you," what's-his-face sounded a little hesitant even as he said it, Jason thought.

"Good!" Jonny – apparently – replied, speaking quietly as well, though the exclamation was a little louder than his next words, sounding a little too enthusiastic. Jason, for himself, wouldn't trust that. "Good. I owe you, after all. It's the _least_ I could do. Now," fabric shifted and something else, sounding like it clicked, sounding…metallic? "Let's bring down the house!"

A beat of silence passed, a sliding noise filling it then, another distinct click that had Jason involuntarily gripping Cass's shoulder tighter. Maybe she looked up at him, confused probably, but his eyes were on the slits in the locker door and he could hardly see anything else anyway.

The next moment, gunshots rent the silent air, fired off in quick succession, the sound of the first shot plainly audible before loud cracks reverberating off the steel of the lockers echoed louder down the hallway, drowning out all else.

Cassandra had started at the sound of the first shot, and Jason's arm had slipped round her shoulders, pulling her close, his other hand clamped over her mouth to stop her from screaming before he realized that it probably wasn't necessary.

He didn't move another muscle though, except to flinch when a bullet cracked through the door and potentially imbedded itself in the wall next to them. A circle of light shone into their dark space.

The silence was sudden, and fake, because he could still hear phantom shots dancing in his ears. They'd started ringing at some point, too, and he was almost embarrassingly aware of his thundering heartbeat and Cass's ear against his chest. She was clutching tightly to his shirt. Scared shitless, probably. He couldn't blame her.

Laughter echoed down the hallway outside and Jason swallowed. Footsteps were starting up again, loud and exuberant.

"You ever defaced school property, Lucky? _Have you_?" it sounded like Jonny, and he sounded ecstatic. Lucky with the limp was shuffling after his companion, but he offered no reply. Jonny wasn't bothered though. "This is going to be _so much fun_!" the man exclaimed, and Jason could tell they were already further down the hall. Only a matter of time before they disappeared round a corner and then the coast would be clear.

He gave it a second though; time enough for his heart to slow down a little and his legs to feel less like jelly. Cass was almost shaking in his hold, and Jason could feel a tremble in his own limbs, too.

_Get a grip, Robin,_ he berated himself, though, and then, taking half a breath, he settled his hands on Cassandra's shoulders and gently pushed her a little away from him. She got the hint and looked up.

"Cassie, y'okay?" he whispered. She nodded at him, but didn't meet his eyes.

He nodded, too, letting her go to reach out along the wall with one hand, feeling for the bullet that had penetrated the door. It was there, cut deep into the metal.

He breathed out; relieved it hadn't been aimed any more to the right.

"Cassie, open the door," he whispered, but Cass's grip on his shirt tightened and she fervently shook her head. He could feel the top of her head brush against him.

Jason swallowed a groan. "C'mon, Cass – you got to open the door. I can't stay in here," he shifted his weight from one foot to another, feeling antsy and claustrophobic.

Not that he was in general. Cramped spaces he could handle fairly well, but…well, it was dark. He wasn't about to say it out loud, but he didn't much like the dark. Didn't mind it, and, like a small space, he could handle it fine. It was the combination of the two, especially with not knowing what was going on outside… The streets were a tough place to grow up on, and they were worse when the sun set – Batman wasn't the only scary thing out there, after all. But when the dark caught you in a corner, it was worse still than that. Jason didn't like the reminder, it made his skin crawl.

But, short of kicking the door off its hinges and making a ruckus, Jason didn't know how to get out.

"_Please_," he barked impatiently, and felt bad about it almost immediately after, especially when she nodded and turned meekly around to obey. He was nearly twice her size, which not only made sense because she was tiny in general, but also because he knew he was older than her. She was smart, despite the inability, and a grade higher than kids her age in general were – like Dick, Jason had thought sort of sourly upon hearing that. He'd only _just_ qualified for freshman class and the Academy as a whole.

Too many skipped classes – _days_ – at his old school. Considering their current situation, there was some irony in that.

When Cass got the door open – and however the hell she managed that – Jason planted his hand on her shoulder again and hissed in her ear, "Stay," before he shifted sideways and she helpfully moved as well, so eventually she was crammed into the back of the locker, and he was at the front, nudging the door a little farther open with one hand.

He peered out carefully, and glanced back at Cass to find her standing stiff as a board and biting her bottom lip.

"I think they're gone," he whispered reassuringly, but held up his hand to her anyway. "But don't come out yet – let me check properly."

She made a gesture with her hand through the lingering darkness and Jason waved a hand at her. He didn't know what she was saying. _'Be careful', probably. People always say that._

He stepped out of the locker, after watching the hallway for a good five seconds in each direction, and straining his ears for any sound. But it was deserted. Nothing but silence.

He turned to face the lockers to his left, finding them littered with bullet holes. "Shit…" he breathed.

_"Morning Gotham Academy!"_ a deep, delighted voice rang through the hall and Jason started, mentally scowling at himself for that even as he did so. He looked around until his eyes found the intercom against the wall. _"Students. Teachers. We trust by now you're well acquainted with my associates. Every classroom has one – fired up and ready to teach! We'll be making a special phone call shortly, and once your loved ones give us what we want, you'll be free to go. Please, don't let us interrupt your education – by all means, carry on,"_ Jason found himself scowling at the white speaker box, his fists clenched tightly and his lips contorted into a snarl. This _sucked_.

He heard Cass shuffle out of the locker behind him, ignoring his orders, but he could barely find it in himself to do so much as roll his eyes at her for it. Instead, he held out his hand and she grasped it eagerly. They were in this together it seemed.

_"Also,"_ the voice continued, a clear threat in its tone this time. It wasn't any voice Jason recognized, so clearly not a bad guy he, at least, was familiar with. _How the hell had they gotten in here in the first place?_ _"If you're not already in a class, I suggest you find one. Resign yourself to your situation. Otherwise…things could get relatively ugly."_

Jason stared at the intercom, his eyes narrowing. "Like_ hell_."

* * *

**A/N: this is another half-hearted attempt at a story XP I should really get back to writing _Fearless_, actually (and for anyone reading that, I'm totally working on it...).**

**I apologize for any OOC-ness - I don't know the characters I plan on working with half as well as I think I do. Heh. Feel free to point out anything I need to change or work on, and I'll do that. I will be taking liberties with some of the characters and their backgrounds, though (Cass, for example...).**

**I am increasingly interested in the psyche of the henchman, also. So, expect more OCs in the form of underpaid baddies and snippets from their points of view - though it will probably just be Nameless Jonny, mostly, and these POVs won't be dominant in comparison to canon characters. Also, I'm aware "Nameless Jon" is not only contradictory, but also kind of redundant XP  
**

**Feel free to review! No duh... XP Thanks a lot for reading, I hope somebody liked it! :)**


	2. The Height in the Tale

**A/N: Be forewarned - Jason swears. A _lot_. Because for some reason I feel like that's what he does. *shrug* Also, there be blood.**

* * *

**the height in the tale**

* * *

Laughter bubbled up in his chest, spewing from his mouth even as he released the intercom button. Potentially, no one on the other side had heard the beginnings of his cackle.

He laughed then. And laughed and laughed, his big hands holding fast to the counter at first before he pushed himself back abruptly and spun the office chair's seat around and around and around and around and around – laughing and laughing and laughing and laughing all the while as he went, watching the office spin in circles and circles and circles and circles and circles—

He jumped to his feet, laughter ceasing immediately, and tugged at the top of his pants to help them sit a bit more snugly round the beginnings of his potbelly. He sniffed inelegantly and surveyed the office.

Beyond the counter splitting the room neatly in two, sat his newly acquainted friends – they acquainted with him not him with them – all tied up in a pretty, close-knit almost-circle, all of them facing him too.

He frowned, unsettled by their wide, fear-filled eyes all fixed on his clearly visible face, their gazes lowering at once when he looked at them.

He sniffed again, annoyed, and scratched at his itching chin – the beard he'd been cultivating for this job was starting to annoy. No masks, the Boss had said, because they'd give the game away.

The game the game the game – couldn't give the game away. Where – _what_? – was the point in that? The point was _not_ to give it away. _Not_.

So no masks. No masks. Not until later. Later later later, after the Boss came along, after he caught what he wanted. Wanted wanted wanted.

…He shook his head, clearing it. After the job he could shave his face and trim his hair, and who would be the wiser because a beard was a valid mask, too.

He'd have to get rid of the hat, though, he thought somewhat dejectedly. He liked the hat.

It was so very _him_ – tall, narrow, a garish purple colour he would have never picked out for himself, granted, but it fit atop his mess of gangly brown curls perfectly, and it made simple and clear exactly who he was. Which was good, he allowed somewhere in his head, because if he had to actually introduce himself he'd probably end up giving six different names to three different people.

It wasn't that he wouldn't be able to decide who he was – it was just that telling the truth sounded like such a nuisance to his brain and what the hell did they want with his name anyway? Or anything else for that matter? People asked him, invited him into their conversations and at once he felt compelled to lie. Oh, how he could spin a ball of yarn into golden strings of fabrications, half-truths and miss-truths and almosts and maybes and none-the-wiser.

It was a gift. A talent he'd cultivated since childhood. People thought he was _crazy_.

He lied, and told them he was.

He lied, and let them call him by his hat, and agreed to lie, and _be_ the man in the top hat, because that was the man everyone was answering to, and he needed them to, he needed it for now, for now until the Boss came. And the Boss would come, because the Bird would come. He would. He would – there were itty bitty lives at stake.

Top Hat wiped imaginary dust off the front of his brown coat, tugged pointlessly at his shirt, and sauntered over to Skinny Limbs, who stood trembling two feet away behind the counter in front of a computer. Top Hat had no time and no patience for computers and technology, even though he found the anonymity – the potential _lies_ just waiting to be told – when using one somewhat alluring.

Skinny Limbs was typing away at the keyboard with his lengthy, bony fingers, moving swiftly across the keys, almost instinctively knowing what they were doing without his eyes keeping watch. They were glued to the screen instead.

Top Hat had barely an idea of what the kid was doing. The boy could not be more than half a year past twenty, Top Hat thought, and he was all arms and legs and bones shifting in awkward angles, his clothes too small and sticking to his gangly body, or too big, making him look like a phantom beneath folds of fabric. And he trembled almost all the time. Like a leaf.

Social anxiety.

No mask for him either. No masks, no masks, no masks – they'd come later. Later later later.

Top Hat couldn't wait for later.

He planted his big burly hands on Skinny Limbs's shoulders and the boy bristled under his touch. He didn't want to be there and Top Hat knew that. So he tells the boy he won't be there for long, he can go home soon – soon, soon, soon – right after this job, just after one more just, just right when they're done with this one—

He lies lies lies lies, and the boy believes. Naïve.

"Watcha doin', Limbsy?" Top Hat asked with his mouth right by the boy's ear and Skinny Limbs scowled at the computer screen and scowled at Top Hat from the corner of his eye, because he doesn't like the nickname they'd given him and Top Hat is well aware of that, too.

Before the boy could answer, though – though maybe he wasn't going to anyway, it's sometimes hard to tell – a window popped up on the screen, asking for a password.

Top Hat could almost make out the boy's frowning face reflected on the screen, and then the kid started typing away again. Asterisks appeared in the space where the password was requested, but when the boy tapped 'Enter' with a slender finger, "Error" flashed onto the screen.

His frown deepened and he typed away at the keys some more, replacing the set of asterisks with a set of potentially different ones – again to no avail.

Top Hat smirked, seeing a much more effective way of doing this. He turned his smirk on his new friends thus, and wandered away from Skinny Limbs, through the gap in the long counter to the other side of the room, all the while casually pulling a revolver from the back of his belt. He checked it, coming to stand in front of his half-circle of friends.

The principle, a well-aged gentleman with a dark grey beard and beady eyes hidden behind glasses, his suit neat and dark blue, sat in the centre, almost exactly opposite him. Top Hat flashed the man a toothy grin as he flipped closed the revolver and hooked his free thumb through a belt-loop in his pants.

A secretary sat to one side, another elderly lady who might have been a teacher, her hair made up in a bun with pins upon pins upon pins – and a snooty couple wearing clothes pressed too flatly, not a fold or a wrinkle out of place, not a hair in disarray no matter how hard he'd manhandled the woman with her lengthy locks into her chair. _Parents_, he'd figured before, with a grim sneer. He _hated_ parents.

"Let's play a game," he announced in no uncertain _business_-tones, because it wouldn't do to let his utter _delight_ shine through. He was about to lie again, and that always made him anxious with excitement. "You know how it works. One bullet. Six shots. One for each of us. Who will be the lucky winner?"

They stared him, eyes even wider if that were possible, and Top Hat could barely contain the feral grin spreading across his lips. "I'll go first!" he exclaimed, and half-aimed the gun at his head, firing it too. His audience jumped, startled – one of the women yelping audibly – when the gun went off, sending a bullet shooting through his top hat.

He lowered the weapon, looking at it disappointedly. "I missed," he pouted. "Oh well," and then with a shrug he raised the weapon at the secretary's head, barking at her, "What's the password?!"

She flinched and trembled, and kept her eyes lowered, her mouth agape and her voice stuck somewhere in her throat though it made the smallest noise like it _wanted_ to come out very desperately.

"We'll sue!" the man opposite her blurted out unexpectedly, though, killing the little whimper of noise she was making, and she looked up at him through fearfully blinking eyes.

Top Hat frowned at the interruption, straightening his shoulders a little more before he swivelled the gun around to face the man opposite the secretary. _Parents_, he sneered in his head.

"W-we'll never bring our kids here e-ever again," the man whimpered somewhat under the gaze of the gun, but since no one was shutting him up, he kept speaking. Top Hat didn't know if he was impressed or annoyed. "This is supposed to be a p-place of s-safety! Y-you'll be aiding and abetting c-criminals!" he said to the woman, but glanced at Top Hat and the gun nervously. "Th-this is all wrong," the last was a whimper, and the man sounded decidedly pathetic as he uttered the words.

The woman beside him, with her hair still perfectly curled and her red lips pursed dramatically, snarled in an undertone at her – husband? "_Shut up_, Clint!" she looked a little older than her companion. Was smarter than him, anyway.

"It's not right, you monsters," Clint mumbled, and Top Hat might have missed it if it weren't for the silence in the room.

"I've decided we're playing anti-clockwise instead," Top Hat said loudly, shifting his arm toward the well-dressed gentleman and pulling the trigger with his barrel aimed the man's kneecap.

Clint screamed, blood bubbling up from the abused limb at once. His wife shrieked, the secretary yelped, somebody else cried out as well, and all the while Clint screamed and screamed louder than all of them. Reeling back in his seat as though he wanted to get away from the injury and the blood, he tipped his chair backwards precariously and fell all the way to the floor with a loud _thump_ and a _crack_ as the chair broke.

His wife stared back at him over her shoulder, her eyes a pair of brown saucers.

Top Hat had turned the gun back to the secretary, asking again, "The password on the computer?"

"You said one bullet!" Clint's wife exclaimed, apparently unable to contain herself. She clapped her mouth shut and stared at him fearfully when she realized she'd spoken though, but Top Hat turned a patient expression on her.

"Well," he smiled brightly. "I lied. Didn't I?"

If she wasn't pale before, she certainly was now. When he looked back at the secretary, she was finally able to speak despite her trembling bottom lip, "I-I'll tell you anything you want!"

He half-turned back to Skinny Limbs, who had apparently been watching the entire exchange with a vacant sort of expression, his shoulders forever shaking. Top Hat grinned and winked.

* * *

Dick Grayson frowned at his expression in the mirror. Then he scowled at the opposite boy's hair and the slick strand curling down his forehead. He clutched at the offending hair irritably and attempted to straighten it with his fingers before he combed it neatly back into the rest of the folds of slicked-back, perfectly gelled mane. It promptly sprang apart and almost stuck upright in the air before it fell forward to touch his forehead again. Dick sighed and scowled some more.

Truth be told, he was long overdue for a haircut and this was his rebellious lock's reminder of the fact. Barely more than a month into the term though, and they were already close to upsetting the dress-code. His hair grew obscenely quick. It was annoying.

Although, he considered, watching himself in the mirror, resting his hand on the sink-counters as he caught the stray strands with his forefinger, twirling them around – Zatanna liked his hair with a little length. She was all pouty when she saw it cut neat and short for school. He smirked at his reflection. Raquel hadn't minded his lengthy hair either when they'd been together. And neither did Barbara, he thought to himself, as he let the strand of hair go, leaving it perfectly twirled.

He barked a laugh.

Barbara admonished him on the length of his hair all the time. She'd been reminding him to cut it all week, in fact. But she tugged at it and twisted it around her fingers when they kissed, too.

Dick sighed – he really ought to be getting back to class.

He made to move, sweeping the stubborn hair back again, wondering if Jason had any gel in his backpack, but an abrupt, unfamiliar noise from outside caught him in his step.

Dick was well enough acquainted with sounds to judge by the faintness of the noise that it was coming from a corridor some few corners over, and was probably pretty loud in actuality. It sounded almost like metal rattling, resounding through the usually silent hallways of the building.

He narrowed his eyes at the doorway and debated whether or not Dick Grayson would investigate.

Robin – _Nightwing _– definitely would, without a moment's hesitation.

But he wasn't the Boy Wonder anymore, hadn't been for months now, and then some – but, there was still a secret identity that needed protecting.

However – Nightwing was barely more than an errant shadow, a trick of the light, an illusion of movement to the criminals of Gotham City, and those who _did_ know of him for a fact were spouting other kinds of nonsense too, behind locked bars in jail.

The public had no idea Nightwing existed at all.

Dick Grayson investigating an odd noise probably wasn't the strangest thing, he finally decided. He'd interfered in a school fight even, only a few weeks ago. Okay, granted, that was mostly only because his little brother had been involved, but still. The former Boy Wonder had a much freer secret identity since he'd shed the mantle of Robin. He could reveal a lot more of his real self without people thinking twice or making a connection on account of some small slip-up, or in a roundabout coincidental way, because there was no more connection to be made.

Nightwing was strictly covert. But Dick didn't have to be – so much – anymore.

He started towards the door thus, the unknown clattering sound having dissipated during his musings, but he figured he could still catch the noise-makers if he made a light run for it – it hadn't been that long – when an announcement sounded in the corridor.

He stopped at the door, having barely opened it, when he realized it was neither the principle nor any teacher he knew talking.

_"—by now you're well acquainted with my associates,"_ the disembodied voice declared, Dick having missed the start of his sentence, but it didn't matter anyway since "associates" was all he needed to catch on that something less than astrous was happening_. "Every classroom has one – fired up and ready to teach! We'll be making a special phone call shortly, and once your loved ones give us what we want, you'll be free to go. Please, don't let us interrupt your education – by all means, carry on. Also,"_ the man's voice went from mockingly pleasant to dangerously serious in the next moment, _"if you're not already in a class, I suggest you find one. Resign yourself to your situation. Otherwise…things could get relatively ugly."_

_The hell's going on exactly?_ Dick frowned, glaring daggers at the intercom against the wall opposite. Was the school being taken hostage? The _entire_ school? Something like this had never happened before in all of his years at Gotham Academy. Students were kidnapped almost all the time, and Dick himself had been grabbed once or twice, but never had a gang of criminals waltzed into the school and taken complete control.

Dick's mind worked fast, though not quite as fast as he would have liked. He was suddenly very grateful for his uncooperative hairdo. He was out of class, and with any luck not even ticked off on the register, just in case they decided taking a few rich kids wouldn't be a bad idea after all.

Dick supposed what they wanted was most likely money, after all, and whilst there were plenty of rich children at the Academy, whose parents would likely all pitch in to rescue their own offspring – because it was generally the expected sort of thing to do, being morally correct and whatnot – the bad guys would be in want of some leverage once they made their escape with the goods in hand. At least, they would if they were smart.

The ward of beloved billionaire bachelor Bruce Wayne would potentially be the best choice since _everyone_ in all of Gotham knew who he was and generally adored him – what could he say, really? He was charming. And he'd worked really hard to charm his way into the hearts of society – considering his heritage, not all of Gotham's elite had been so forthcoming with…well, his general existence, after Bruce had taken him in.

They'd warmed up to him over the years though, and besides all the chaos another kidnapping of his would cause, it was almost common knowledge – because nobody could keep their mouths shut in high society – that Bruce was a very generous donator to charity. He was even more generous with ransom money when it came to the life of his ward.

With a new, younger Robin than him out and about on the streets though, Dick took a moment to muse, Dick Grayson could probably show-off some of his old circus tricks and fight back if they did discover him after all, and decided to take him, without giving too much away.

It was then he realized with a little start that he was in fact not Robin anymore, because he'd passed on the title to his _younger brother_. Jason had to play the meek, normal, unskilled boy now – he could lash out and throw a few punches without causing suspicions, considering where he'd been raised almost all his life, sure, but too many flips and kicks and tricks and any monkey could put it together.

Robin's moves were flippant and boisterous and relatively recognizable in the criminal community as well as the civilian community, and Jason, though still a little rough with some of them, knew them off by heart already and had had enough practice to perform them adequately.

Secret identities aside though, Jason was first and foremost Dick's _little brother_, and the _billionaire's_ son – if it were a choice between the younger, shorter, potentially easier-to-target fourteen year old, and his almost sixteen-year-old brother, Dick had no doubt who the baddies would pick.

_I got to find him first,_ Dick decided at once, finally moving to exit the room, when another interruption halted him again – laughter. Thick and throaty, it must have been one of the perpetrators, advancing in Dick's direction and walking fast.

The dark-haired teen slipped back into the bathroom, looking over the stalls for a moment and debating whether one of them would make a good hiding place when he decided against it and made himself flat against the wall next to the door instead, effectively hiding him from view when the man – and his limping companion – entered the bathroom only moments later.

They called into the room for "kiddies", chuckled with varying degrees of menace, and proceeded to check the stalls, never bothering to look back behind the door they'd opened.

Trained in the art of swift, silent movements, Dick slipped out of his hiding place when the men had their backs turned to him, both checking stalls at the same time like the idiots they were, and he was soundlessly out the door with them none the wiser.

Outside, he paused next to a row of lockers and absently set his finger against his chin as he thought.

He needed to find Jason, that was true, and the chances that his brother was actually in class was potentially low, since Jason liked playing hooky – especially after a long, tiring week, and Dick knew this had been a hard one for the now Boy Wonder. He was relatively swamped with school work – teachers wanting to get as much done as possible before Thanksgiving and Christmas soon thereafter – not to mention late-night patrols with Batman and missions with the Team. Jason would want an early weekend, and, in some sort of twisted irony or something, Dick was actually hoping for a change that he'd taken it.

If not, he was stuck in a class guarded by a guy with a gun – Dick had spied the heat the pair in the bathroom were packing and he had no doubt the rest of Mister What's-his-name Announcer's "associates" were carrying the same kind. Either way, Dick needed to be sure where his little brother was before he did anything else.

Of course, the men in the bathroom provided for the perfect trail that could potentially lead him to the "mastermind" behind this little scheme. That wasn't really a _Dick Grayson_ job, though, and he'd need a change of attire to follow through on it. In the meantime, however, the least he could do was make sure their paths didn't cross while he took care of the small issue of what identity he was wearing, after he found his brother.

Utilising all his skill as an acrobat, thus, Dick vaulted himself as silently as he was able, onto the top of the lockers next to him, which didn't quite reach the ceiling, leaving him with barely _just_ enough room to wiggle into and effectively hide from view. Well, unless someone looked up, of course, and then he was uncomfortably stuck because it was a relatively tight fit – he hadn't been a gangly-looking thin kid in years, after all. Fortuitously, though, people so rarely examined what went on over their heads, not to mention from the direction they'd been headed before, he was now _behind_ them anyway, and people so rarely checked there either.

The pair did neither as they exited the bathroom, at least one of them still chattering away enthusiastically about nothing Dick decided was note-worthy.

Once they'd gotten a few paces away down the corridor, he slipped off the lockers and ducked quickly into the bathroom – just because they hadn't looked back coming out of the room, it didn't mean they wouldn't look back at some point and there was no hiding place for Dick if he were to make his way in the opposite direction as he'd planned. Best to be completely out of sight until he was certain they were gone.

He stayed next to the door, with it slightly ajar so he could listen better for their retreating footsteps. Bad guys hardly ever measured their steps or kept them quiet when they thought they were in perfect control of their situations. Listening to them walking off, talking still as they went as well, another, much more quiet flutter of footsteps reached his ears. Much closer than the retreating pair, and coming from the same direction the two men had ventured from, they were both appropriately and _familiarly_ quiet.

Dick frowned though, pulling the door a little farther open and sticking out his head at the exact same moment the owner of those trained footfalls passed by.

"_Jason_!" Dick hissed, his tone a mixture of relief and admonition at his insane luck at finding his brother already, and finding him not only skipping class after all, but doing it creeping after criminals. And moreover, with a civilian in tow.

Jason almost comically appeared to freeze in his step at the sound of his name, and his head whipped around to look at Dick, a perfectly guilty look on his face. Dick didn't fail to notice how his younger brother at once released his companion's hand as well, and instead the girl fingered the back of Jason's blazer, standing almost exactly behind him as if Jason had been shielding her.

Mentally, Dick couldn't resist the chuckle that sounded in his head; _You really are a little hero._

"Get in here!" he was quietly snapping at the boy not a second later, and reached out with one hand to grab Jason by the arm and pull him inside the bathroom. Jason, in turn, caught the girl's wrist and dragged her inside as well. Dick shut the door firmly, vaguely taking note of how quiet Jason's friend had been moving all the while – Dick hadn't even heard her approaching outside – before turning a scowl on his brother.

Truth be told he was incredibly relieved that Jason was not only okay, but _with him_ now, too, not only saving him a lot of trouble, potentially, but also a lot of worry so early in the game.

"Why aren't you in class?" Dick couldn't help but ask, even as he was almost happy about the fact, but some instinctual responsible big brother trigger inside of him, that he hadn't known he possessed until a few months ago, was prompting him to ask anyway.

Jason, however, was less than impressed by the question, and he crossed his arms and scowled right back at Dick almost defiantly, "_Really_, Dickface? Did you not hear the plainly threatening announcement a minute ago? Class is the _last_ place anyone should be."

Dick couldn't help but chuckle, Jason's brute bluntness – and that damned nickname – always managing to somehow make him feel a little more relaxed and amused.

His response turned Jason's scowl deeper though, of course, and Dick was almost certain he muttered a curse, too, when Dick grabbed him round the arms in a swift hug. He barely hung on long enough for Jason to actually respond one way or another, though, pulling back as he said, "You're right. I'm glad you're not in class."

Jason's expression relaxed then, apparently content that Dick was satisfied with his answer, although Dick was in fact noting that Jason hadn't actually answered his question at all.

Before either of them could say or do anything more though, Jason let out a startled yelp, just as Dick noticed his brother's friend pinching him hard in the side of the neck – which was the easiest place, everywhere else covered in fabric. It was such a quick move, though; Dick almost hadn't seen it until too late.

"Shit!" Jason exclaimed, slapping his hand to his neck. Dick frowned – half at his little brother's vulgar mouth, and mostly in confusion at the girl's actions. "The hell was that for?" Jason glared at her, but she pinched him again on the back of his hand, remorseless.

"Stop it!" he snapped.

"Keep your voice down," Dick hissed, his hand reaching out to snag Jason by the front of his blazer almost automatically.

Jason glared at him, too, and he let go.

From the corner of his eye, Dick noticed the girl's hands moving though, but he only caught a brief glimpse of the movement. He narrowed his eyes at her and she looked up, her brown orbs meeting his blue ones almost interestedly.

Dick straightened up, glanced at Jason, who was rubbing the side of his neck still.

"Who's your friend?" he asked then, gesturing the girl and keeping his eyes on her. She looked vaguely familiar, and Dick figured he must have seen her around school at some point, though he hadn't ever seen her hanging out with Jason before. Beyond that, the way she'd moved her hands had looked familiar, too, sparking a memory he couldn't quite uncover just yet, in the back of his mind.

As Jason shot the girl a frown for her pinching, and Dick watched her smile cheekily back at him before regarding Dick again, the elder boy was quite suddenly struck with a very happy feeling at the thought of his brother having a friend.

Jason had been nothing but snide in his remarks about relationships at school, not to mention his fight a few weeks back, leaving Dick – and Bruce, and Alfred – to conclude he didn't like his classmates – or vice versa – and wasn't making any friends. Jason had never said so outright, though, and none of them had pushed him (more than once, anyway) about it, knowing it would only upset him.

After the fight, which was only the most recent one in a number Dick was almost needing more than two hands to count off, now, Alfred, ever the master of subtly, might have used some roundabout method to advise Jason in a way he ended up listening to, on how to better handle his situation. Of course it hadn't been the first time Alfred had delicately intervened, since it was in fact an issue carried over from summer school, which Jason had been obliged to attend, but it was the most effective intervention so far – or so it seemed.

Maybe Jason wasn't even aware of his good behaviour, though, because even as he frowned at her, he kind of blinked, looking surprised at what Dick had called her, so he started intelligently, "Er…" glancing back and forth between Dick and the girl.

She stepped further forward helpfully, still looking right at Dick and giving him a small smile.

Dick grinned.

"Dick, Cassandra," Jason recovered, gesturing. "Cass, my brother, Dick. Also," he added at Dick, "Introductions? At a time like this – again, _really_?"

Dick plainly ignored him, leaving Jason to roll his eyes, as he stuck out his hand to Cassandra instead, smiling warmly as she took it.

Another big brotherly instinct insisting he had to do _something_ to embarrass his younger sibling, overtook him in the moment and Dick bent forward to plant a kiss on the back of her hand. Jason groaned, but Cassandra might have giggled silently. She was certainly smiling, though Dick hadn't heard a sound from her. The perpetual silence, accompanied by her shifting hands before, and having heard her name now, loosened the memory Dick hadn't been able to recall a moment before.

"When you're done charming the pants off your latest victim," Jason cut in almost bitingly, though, shoving against Dick's shoulder without much force and more for emphasis than any other reason, "We need to talk."

"Hold on," Dick said easily, holding up his hand to Jason, who paused halfway through turning on Cassandra to give his brother an impatient look. "You're not, Cassandra _Cain_, are you?" Dick directed at the girl.

She blinked, and smiled a little wider, nodding.

"I thought so. I'm sorry we've never actually _met_," Dick said. "But I'm glad you took the scholarship, after all. I promise this whole hostage situation thing doesn't happen very often," he grinned at her, and she smiled brightly back, but Jason, Dick noticed, was looking at them perplexed.

"Scholarship?" he cut in. "A _Wayne Foundation_ scholarship?" he narrowed his eyes at Dick and then turned to Cassandra, "You never told me that."

Cassandra's only reply to Jason's frown was a one-shouldered shrug like it didn't matter and he'd never asked anyway, but Dick got the impression Jason was going to bring it up to her again later.

"C'mere," Jason said then, impatiently, and he grabbed Cassandra by the wrist again and pulled her along, steering her by the shoulders into a stall and sitting her down on the lowered lid of the toilet.

Dick blinked, watching the scene with amusement. Cassandra, despite the frown on her face that was quickly becoming a scowl, was tolerating Jason and following his commands with what looked to be practiced patience. Dick wondered how well they knew each other, how long they'd been friends. And why Jason hadn't bothered to mention it – to _him_, at least. He felt a little deflated at the thought.

"Just sit," Jason was saying, as he planted Cassandra on her perch. "Stay for a second while I confer with Dickie back there – this is kind of personal."

Watching with interest, Dick noticed Cassandra's hands move upwards from her lap just long enough for her fingers to flutter in a way that would have been meaningless to half the population. Dick found himself grinning.

Jason just shrugged with his hands raised though as he was backing up out of the stall. "You _know_ I don't know what you're saying."

Dick barked a laugh, finding it even funnier now for some reason. Jason generally had a quick-silver tongue, which, in addition to several other appropriate traits, made him the perfect candidate for picking up the Robin persona – since Robin was nothing if not a snarky little troll. Watching the kid able to do nothing but shrug helplessly in ignorant reply to being told-off thus, was six shades of entertaining.

Jason turned a surprised look on his older brother, before he frowned, "What's with you?"

"She'd like to remind you she's a person, not a dog," Dick replied helpfully, grinning all the while. "And your manners need some work," he glanced at Cass, whose fingers were moving again. "She'd offer you lessons, if you'd like."

Jason was somewhere between frowning, scowling and gaping at Dick, before he looked at Cassandra and back again, "You understand all the," he gestured incoherently with his hands. "Sign..s?"

Dick laughed a little, clutching Jason's shoulder, "Don't worry, it's on your list."

"_Great_," he drawled, dropping his hands and rolling his eyes. "Another entire language to learn."

"At least you could have a less one-sided conversation with your friend then," Dick offered, terming Cassandra thus on purpose, wanting to see Jason's reaction.

There barely was one other than to shrug off Dick's hand and gesture the corner of the room as he said imploringly, "Can we talk _now_?"

"Sure," Dick replied, no longer smiling, reminded that they were in fact in a precarious kind of situation and they really needed to discuss a few things. Cassandra's presence was unfortunate, but she apparently didn't seem to mind being excluded from a hopefully quick conversation. The problem lay in what they were going to do with her once the time came for them to switch identities. "Excuse us, just a second."

It occurred to Dick to ask Jason what Cassandra had been doing outside of class, too, because he found himself disappointed to think his brother was getting her in trouble.

"_So_?" Jason asked, voice low, once they were tucked into a corner with their backs half turned to the room, although Dick had taken the spot with the better vantage of the door if he just turned a little more to the right. "What do we do?"

Dick had been considering this for the past fifteen minutes, and, where the answer had seemed so easy and obvious at first – find Jason, change clothes, beat the bad-guys – it was suddenly much more complex with the added variable of their civilian companion.

"I…" he started, and hesitated, not sure. So instead, he said as much. "Don't exactly know. I don't think there's much we _can_ do, right now."

"The _hell_ kind of answer is _that_?" Jason snapped quietly, and Dick reached out to pinch him on the arm. It probably barely stung through the blazer and the sweater and the shirt, but Jason scowled and swatted at his hand anyway. "_What_?" he said, exasperated.

"It's for the swearing," Dick shrugged, repeating Cassandra's reply.

Jason rolled his eyes, "I'll swear as much as I feel like it. Now, tell me you're kidding – what do you _mean_ there's nothing we can do? We're—well, _you know_. The entire school needs _our_ help – and you want to do nothing?"

"_We_," Dick corrected, a solution coming to mind after all. "I said 'we', not 'me'. I'll take care of this. You need to hide."

Jason's expression was incredulous, "Are you fucking kidding me? You don't think I can handle this?" at least he kept his voice down, though.

"That's not it—" Dick started, but Jason steamrolled right over him, the younger kid looking somewhere between almost livid and, to Dick's shame, _hurt_.

"Because I can," he insisted, grabbing Dick by the lapels of his blazer. "You _know_ I can. I've been running missions with the Team – I've been _good_. I can totally do this! I'll follow your almighty orders and everything – I swear—"

"_Jason_," Dick finally got a word in, almost having to snap at his brother to shut him up. Dick caught hold of Jason's elbows, gripping tight. "That's not it."

Noting he had Jason's undivided attention now, the kid waiting for him to continue, he turned his head, half-nodding in the direction of the cubicles.

Jason caught his drift and his eyes followed the gesture, his mouth dropping into a cool round "o" when he got it.

"Cassandra is _your_ responsibility," Dick whispered.

"That's not fair," Jason said at once, though he spoke quietly and sounded more unsure than anything else.

"We need to consider her first and foremost, Jay," Dick continued, trying to explain in a way Jason would understand and agree with. "We can't just turn into Nightwing and Robin," he kept his voice low, barely even whispering their other identities, "Nobody can know, you _know_ that. So your options are hiding her in a bathroom until someone _else_ finds her, sending her back to class, all on her own, or sticking with her _as Jason Todd_."

Jason's expression change with the realization that Dick was right and his shoulders slumped in response, the grip on Dick's blazer slackening.

"At least…" he started, eyes downcast. "At least in class she'll be…_sort of_ safe…"

He didn't sound convinced, and Dick didn't believe Jason really thought that, either. He almost smiled, watching his brother's brow furrow as he tried to figure it out.

"Didn't you just say class is the last place we should be?" Dick implored.

Jason groaned, letting Dick go and shrugging him off too.

"Which reminds me," Dick said thoughtfully. "You didn't actually _say_ why you're not in class…"

"Now's not really the time, Dick."

"Jason—"

"You're not in class, either," he countered indignantly, and Dick smirked.

"You'll notice, _I _have a pass," he held up the plastic card around his neck and watched Jason scowl.

But then his little brother grinned a very Robin-esque grin. "A pass to the bathroom, Dickie? During first period?" mirth coloured his tone, "Did you not go before we left, or, is the twenty minute drive from the manor too much for you?" he chuckled. "Something you need to tell us, _Dick_?"

"_Jason_—" he ran one hand through his hair, frustrated now.

"Nice cowlick, by the way," Jason cut in with a nod at Dick's forehead. "I see you're channelling your favourite hero," he smirked wickedly. "Bruce will be _so_ excited to hear."

"Don't tell him," Dick said, almost automatically, and pointed a stern finger at the grinning boy. But he shook his head then, getting back on track, "Jason. Why aren't you in class?"

"Why's it matter? We've already established class is a bad place to be—"

"You're avoiding the question."

"So?"

"You're lying, Jase."

"No. I'm avoiding the question – it's not the same thing."

"You're avoiding the question so you don't have to lie to me _outright_, but that only makes it a lie of omission. The operative word still being _lie_."

"_Again_ – so? Where I come from lying keeps you alive."

"Yeah, but…you're not _there_ anymore, Jase. You're with _us_ now."

"Same rules still apply," Jason said fervently, crossing his arms and half avoiding Dick's eye. "You're all dressed up in fancy clothes for frickin' _school_, and you drive around in expensive cars with chauffeurs and nobody knows me here, and if they did all I'd be is judged and ridiculed and looked down upon by snooty lords and ladies. It's _easier_ to lie about everything," Jason's green eyes were dark and defiant, his arms crossed tightly – defensively – across his chest.

Dick had never had a conversation like this with him before. Jason could play it pretty close to the vest when he wanted to, apparently. It's not that Dick hadn't thought about or worried over how Jason would fit into high society – partially because all the fist fights he'd been getting into had been indication enough, and otherwise because Jason had shrugged it off, grinned widely and assured Dick he'd just get used to it. Dick should've known it was – or would become – more complicated than just that.

"Besides," Jason added. "I'm a great liar," he paused, glancing at Dick, and then allowed, shrugging one shoulder, "Generally."

Dick's smile was brief before he replied, "I get it, Jay. I know what it feels like to be pulled from a far less glamorous life – one that seemed perfect and without want for anything more – into…_all of this_." Jason shifted, uncomfortable, from one foot to another, but he didn't interrupt. "I wish you'd said something before. I…I wished I'd _asked_—"

"I'd have blown you off…"

"But I'm asking _now_, and…" he hadn't realized how sad it made him until he had to say it aloud. "And you're lying. To _me_."

Jason looked up at the emphasis on the last word, his expression almost startled, or scared, or…_guilty_.

"Don't look at me like that…" he breathed, but Dick had barely opened his mouth to ask, when Jason continued in a rush, "I was ditching, okay?" his eyes flashed away, filled with guilt. "But you already _know_ that – why'd I have to _say it_?"

"Honesty, Jason," Dick replied, not unkindly. "I just want you to be honest with me – always. Even about the bad stuff. Besides, I meant what I said before – I'm glad you're not in class."

"Yeah, only because the school's overrun with gunmen."

"Fair enough," Dick allowed reluctantly, before he inquired, "What about your friend?"

"She's not my friend – I barely know her," Jason replied easily, but he kept his eyes focussed on the wall.

"You're doing it again, Jason—"

"I didn't _make_ her come, okay?" he looked up. "She just _did_. And then she kind of convinced me to go back to class—" _She deserves a medal_, Dick thought idly, "—but then these guys with guns showed up and started shooting at us—"

"Wait, _what_?!" Dick blanched, mentally scowling at himself for his outburst. He lowered his voice at once, but couldn't keep out the concern. "You didn't tell me this – why didn't you start with that—"

"You didn't ask—"

"Are you okay?" Dick had him by the arms, was turning him this way and that, lifting up his arms and pulling at his blazer to get a better look at him, but Jason scowled and pushed Dick's hands away balefully.

"_Fine_," he insisted.

"Are you _sure_, though?" Dick repeated. "Not even a graze? How'd you get away?"

"We're _fine_!" Jason said again, holding his palms up as if that would be enough to keep Dick from giving him another once-over.

Dick blinked though, at what he'd said, a nauseous feeling of shame uncoiling in his belly. He'd really just been asking after Jason's health, not even considering Cassandra. The thought of his younger brother hurt and keeping it from him – _again_ – had been too much for him to think straight.

"Besides," Jason continued, waving a hand, oblivious to Dick's deflated shoulders. "We were in a locker at the time. They didn't even know we were there—"

"The noise I heard before," Dick realized, and slapped his palm to his forehead in a gesture reminiscent of M'gann. "Gunfire – they were shooting at the lockers! Are you sure neither of you—"

"Yes," Jason said, clearly exasperated. "They weren't shooting anywhere near us anyway—" that was another lie, Dick noticed, but he didn't care just then, catching Jason in a bear hug before the boy had properly finished his sentence.

Jason only squirmed for all of two seconds, "Dude – I am too old for this!" he snapped, though he sounded resigned to his fate, knowing by now Dick didn't mess around with his hugs and he was only going to let go once he was good and ready.

"I'm just glad you're okay," Dick said, when he finally released Jason, squeezing his brother's shoulders.

"Yeah, whatever…" Jason scoffed half-heartedly, his cheeks coloured, as he rubbed the back of his neck and didn't look at Dick, who just laughed.

Dick's spontaneous hug had seemingly drained the tension from the air, though, and they stood a moment in silent content.

"I…guess I need to stay with Cass, then, huh?" Jason asked quietly after a moment.

Dick nodded, "Yeah. Keep her safe and stay out of sight. We can't hang around in here much longer, we've already been talking too long as it is."

"What are you going to do?"

"Change my outfit, for one," he replied, very quietly, and shot Jason a grin. He got one in return, half-hearted though it may have been. "And then I'll make a phone call."

Jason nodded in understanding, turning on his heel and heading back to Cassandra's cubicle even as he did so. "Cassie, come on, we got to—_shit_."

Dick frowned, following in his brother's wake, "What?"

"Shitty, shit, _shit_," Jason muttered, turning around, glancing all over the room, though it was obvious there was nothing.

"_What_?" Dick repeated when Jason had turned to him again, the younger boy's eyes wide and filled with panic.

"She's _gone_."

* * *

**A/N: Thanks for reading! Thanks for the review luvs2read, I hope you came back for more :)  
**


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